Metro Times 06/25/25 by Big Lou Holdings

Feedback NEWS & VIEWS

The news of Black churches launching a voter campaign on Juneteenth last week prompted this exchange from Metro Times readers on Facebook.

Stop with all this Juneteenth nonsense. Celebrate Lincoln’s birthday! It was Lincoln and the Republicans, with the aid of the Union armies, that freed the slaves.

Juneteenth = The day when the last city in America was notified that the Democrats’ slave trade had been abolished by Republicans. We should celebrate that the tyranny

of Democrats came to an end, and Republicans continue to work against it. The date of the “Emancipation Proclamation” by Republican President Abe Lincoln would be appropriate.

—Robert Hewson

This argument is so tired. You do realize that the ideologies switched in the ’50s and ’60s between the Democratic and Republican Party. One became conservative and exclusive; the other became progressive and inclusive. Stop being a mynah bird and read a history book.

—Vog Phodbone

Sound off: letters@metrotimes.com

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2025 FICTION ISSUE

In The Silence of the Ruins, We Speak

By Ackeem Salmon

Ackeem Salmon is an interdisciplinary artist whose work explores memory, migration, and the poetics of identity; his upcoming solo exhibition opens mid-August 2025 at M Contemporary Gallery (205 E. Nine Mile Rd., Ferndale; mcontemporaryart.com).

Five years ago, the Metro Times Fiction Issue began as a project produced in the wake of COVID-19. As we struggled collectively to navigate the isolation, grief, and uncertainty of a pandemic, we thought it important to reach out to our most public thinkers — writers and artists — to help navigate the uncharted waters of a modern world struggling with disease and the drastic changes it brought.

That plague also placed arts institutions like the Metro Times under attack. Advertising revenue for newspapers like this one was unsustainably diminished, concert venues sat empty, theaters were shuttered, bars and restaurants closed. Many of the spaces in which we gathered to share ideas and tell our stories were no longer available.

This special issue was born out of a deep commitment to creative solidarity and a belief that storytelling could offer connection, grounding, guidance, and resistance. As a community, we have learned to cope with the ongoing health crisis. We continue to face intentional attempts to disrupt and endanger our peace and liberated lives.

Today, with a renewed intensity, those with unfettered power and greed are determined to erase history, reject the evidence before our eyes and ears, disappear our neighbors, and dehumanize citizens. At its root is a disdain for two of our most sacred values: humanity and the truth.

These strategies are not new. Neither is our resistance. Art broadly — this Fiction Issue, in particular — is one way among many that, as a community, we tell our truths and celebrate our humanity.

During a time when creative expression is policed and arts funding is being shredded, we continue to curate this series as both an offering and a declaration: storytelling is not a luxury. It is culture. It is memory. It is how we survive and imagine a sustainable future.

Although this publication has always included a broad cross-section of Detroit’s creative voices, this year the Fiction Issue is dedicated entirely to artists of color. This decision reflects both a cultural mission and our shared belief that documenting our communities — on our terms — is necessary, sacred work.

This year’s theme, “documented/undocumented,” explores the boundaries between what is recorded and what is erased, what is visible and what is obscured, what is named and what is deliberately left out. We asked: What does it mean to be archived, to be seen, to leave a trace? What does it mean to be forgotten, to be misfiled, to be undocumented not only by the state, but by culture, by history, by art? The answers came back in a chorus of stories, poems, images, and hybrid forms.

The artists in this issue take us across many of those in-between spaces: between freedom and confinement, between Old Detroit and imagined futures, between the living and the spirit world. They write through gaps in public history. They make visible what might otherwise remain unseen.

Powerful forces would rather that we not explore these questions, would rather the nettlesome conscience remain hidden, would have these worlds of truth silenced. If these stories resonate with you, we hope you’ll help us keep the work going. Your support ensures that the voices in these pages — and those still waiting to be heard — have a place to live, breathe, and thrive. These pages carry the voices of those whose stories might not otherwise be documented.

In gratitude and solidarity,

Nandi Comer and Drew Philip Co-Editors

The Metro Times Fiction Issue is a project of the Metro Times and Detroit Lit. This project is supported by Arts Midwest. Please consider donating to local Detroit narrative makers by making a tax-deductible contribution to Detroit Lit at alliedmedia.org/post/donate-todetroit-lit.

Paperwork

By Wes Taylor

design: Wes Taylor is a Detroit-based beat maker, artist, and designer; he works with many collectives and co-runs Talking Dolls Detroit.

Cover

Digital design

Cottonwood Creek

By Nora Chapa Mendoza

Cottonwood Creek is rising, it is rising again. The dying sun burns a hole through the opal sky. Heavy air smothers the copper earth; dark furies churn the waters.

There is no time to wait for Mama’s return. Half-dry laundry must be taken down from the line, piled into a basket and placed on the highest shelf. Your voice trumpets orders to the others.

Strip the beds! Stack the mattresses and covers on top of the piano!

Gather the shoes and coats! Load them on top of the bedclothes...

Collect some changes of clothing. Be ready to move to higher ground the minute Mama gets back. But she must hurry.

In a few days when you return, Robert will help Marcellus push the piano onto the L-shaped stoop to dry. You and Ethel will help Mama wash down the walls and disinfect the floor. The things that cannot be redeemed will have to be discarded.

It will be weeks before the sun’s benevolence dries out the farthest corners of your lives.

Fair Trade

By Aaron Foley

much recognition.

Six thousand miles from a golden coast to great lakes; the new middle passage. Lately, there’s a boy like him packing up his duffel about — on average, it’s getting harder to keep count — twice a month, headed to their new world. The fiber optics are unpredictable, beckoning them to come to places unknown: Atlanta, Palm Springs, Chicago. This one’s going to Detroit, the place they say looks a lot like home. Maybe that’ll make this whole deal easier.

He looks like the boys the men on the other side yearn for: Tall, fit, dark, youthful. Their complete opposite, usually; but sometimes they match in height. The men on the other side barter with promises to distract from their physical shortcomings. Clothes, food, companionship, shelter. The boys offer in exchange companionship (terms and conditions vary on a case-by-case basis), labor (terms and conditions vary on a case-by-case basis) and their bodies (non-negotiable).

The men on the other side work their networks, and it’s all philanthropy. Portions of substantial, single-earner incomes they earn go toward causes that align with their beliefs — increasing diversity, diversifying the economy, diverse lives mattering. There’s a trend they were ahead of the curve on. The men also believe in youth. Preserving it for the young and making sure it’s not wasted, while recapturing their own. The youth these men are seeking can be found in their causes — specifically, the little shelters.

Hundreds of hopefuls always arrive in the big shelters with various visas and certificates and papers. In the little shelters are the more desperate, escaping lands in conflict, moving out of sight from punishing stares, fleeing suspicion. The laws of these lands are designed to trap the boys like him. Imprisonment only for those kinds of boys just wanting to find other boys, or even death if they are found. Those boys turn to men for their own version of hopeful. The little shelters are where they’re safe to be found.

The one boy arrives in Detroit with nothing but his duffle of some worn clothes, some toi-

letries, snacks, and tiny keepsakes of home. He and four others — three women, one man, all unrelated — find their way to the front of the plane, to baggage claim, then to ground transportation. They are told to look for the friendly, young, white bearded man in a silver transport van. They find him and they are off to their small shelter 20 miles down wide, bustling lanes of concrete, trying to decipher the words and names — Ecorse, Telegraph, Southfield, Michigan, that one they know — along the way.

The van arrives at a two-story, unmarked and unnumbered storefront on a corner and pulls into the alley alongside. Slowly, the passengers gather their things and move along a gravelly path, breathing in the cool, night air, eventually shuffling into a narrow entrance and through corridors with sharp turns. There are more white people waiting for them, telling them to relax, take deep breaths, make themselves comfortable. The women and the men sign papers, and are whisked into their own bedrooms, on their own. The boy remains in the welcome space and recognizes the grey-haired man with whom he’s been exchanging digital conversation and imagery for the past seven months.

“You’ll stay here for a few days,” the man, seated, says to the boy, “just to get things straightened out.”

“And when do I go with you? I will still go with you, right?”

The man stands to his feet and walks over to the boy, and the boy makes out the green veins crisscrossing his spotted hands and the wrinkles scrawled into his face. The man takes him into his arms and maneuvers to bring his forehead down for a kiss. “Soon, my boy, soon. You’ll be mine, soon.”

The boy knows what to do now. He embraces him back and pulls him closer to feel a sudden but forced growth. “It won’t be long, then,” the boy murmurs, and the man presses his cheek into the boy’s lean torso. “Sooner is better than later.”

Aaron Foley is a journalist and writer who divides his time between Brooklyn and Detroit. He is the author of Boys Come First and How to Live in Detroit Without Being a Jackass.

Nora Mendoza, a world-renowned artist, focuses on many subjects from large abstracts to women and the plight of the underprivileged in numerous mediums, and has exhibited her work internationally, gaining

Cottonwood Creek, 1995, acrylic collage, 31 x 41 inches.

PHOTO BY CARRIE WILLIAMS ACOSTA

Thin Air

By Jeni De La O

It’s like she disappeared right out of the air.

She was about a block and a half away from the school when she disappeared.

[Redacted] was in good spirits the day before she disappeared.

Friends say it’s unlike her to disappear for so long.

On the night she disappeared, the 15-year-old attended a disco across the border in Donegal.

At the time she disappeared, [Redacted] was only wearing a zip-up sweater, spandex pants, athletic shoes and a plastic poncho.

[Redacted] said she kept in regular contact with her sister until she disappeared.

The daughter of a missing flautist has said her mum was “incredibly happy” before she disappeared five days ago.

Officials said she was supposed to meet with someone on the night she disappeared.

Police say [Redacted] forced [Redacted]’s three daughters to take a sleep aid the night she disappeared but one spit the medicine out and heard her mother and [Redacted] arguing.

Friends of [Redacted]’s reported her missing to San Bruno police about a week after she disappeared.

The day she disappeared, [Redacted] called out sick from her job as a letter carrier at the U.S. Postal Service.

Her body was discovered a day after she disappeared.

Body of missing activist, 28, is found in an Ohio river two months after she disappeared.

Two British men ‘forced’ a ‘fearful’ Latvian waitress into their car before the woman disappeared.

The teenager, [Redacted], is said to have left her phone and suicide note at her home the night she disappeared.

Woman’s suspected killer charged 2 years after she vanished; remains still not found.

Body of missing woman found in Sydney community garden four years after she disappeared there.

Police have launched a fresh large-scale search for murdered Bangor woman [Redacted], at a former airfield site where she disappeared 14 years ago.

“We’re using the phrase, ‘It’s like she vanished into thin air,’

but I want to say right here and now: There’s no such thing,”

[Redacted]’s aunt [Redacted] told local media.

“Somebody knows something. It’s impossible that nobody knows anything.”

References

2. Kathleen Shea, 1965: Friends mourn death of woman found in Lemay quarry

3. Stephanie Steiner, 2019: She disappeared ‘under suspicious circumstances’. That was 8 months ago.

4. Stacey Faye Nease, 2019: Family of abducted and murdered Irish teenager Arlene Atkinson vow to never give up

5. Arlene Arkinson, 2019: Report: Medical Examiner Says Cleves Woman Lost In Smokies Died Of Hypothermia

6. Mitzie “Susan” Clements, 2019: Twin looks for ‘missing puzzle’ in Williams sister’s disappearance

7. Kimberly Mericle, 2017: OSP asking for help in 2017 missing persons case

8. Maja O’brien, 2019: Maja O’Brien: Missing flautist ‘was incredibly happy’

9. Cynthia Carver, 2019: Cynthia Carver told man she would ‘wait up for him’ the night she disappeared, court docs show

10. Camisha Hollis, 2019: Questions remain for family a year after Camisha Hollis disappeared

11. Tracy Avilez, 2019: Family searching for missing San Bruno mother who disappeared six months ago

12. Kierra Coles, 2018: Chicago police narrow down persons of interest in disappearance of expectant mother Kierra Coles

13. Samantha Josephson, 2019: Slain college student’s boyfriend was tracking her ‘on the phone’ while she was in wrong car

14. Amber Haimantis, 2019: Body of missing activist, 28, is found in an Ohio river two months after she disappeared

15. Agnese Klavina, 2014: Two British men ‘forced’ a ‘fearful’ Latvian waitress into their car before the woman disappeared, the last day of the pair’s kidnap trial in Spain hears

16. Jenna Fitzhugh, 2019: Police are searching for a missing KY girl who disappeared in the middle of the night

17. Danielle Stislicki, 2016: 28-year-old woman’s suspected killer is charged over 2 years after she vanished; remains still not found: Mich AG

18. Gaida Coote, 2014: Body of missing woman found in Sydney community garden - four years after she disappeared there

19. Lisa Dorrian, 2005: Fresh hope for Dorrian family as major search begins close to where Lisa disappeared in 2005

20. Najah Ferrell, 2019: Indiana Mother Najah Ferrell still missing after disappearing on first day of new job.

Jeni De La O is a poet, storyteller, and freelance editor living in Detroit.

The Colored Section (after Gary Simmons’ sculpture: Balcony Seating Only)

By La Shaun phoenix Moore

In the theater of American dreams

Black folks were handed Balcony seating

Only Jim Crow’s cruel usher

Showing us to the back door, the alley entrance

In th Mornings

By V Efua Prince

In th Mornings

By V Efua Prince

(After “Calling Jesus” from Jean Toomer’s Cane)

Her soul is like a little bob-tailed dog that follows her, whimpering. She is old enough, I know, t find a warm spot for it. But each night when she comes home an closes th big outside storm door, th little dog is left in th vestibule, filled with chills till morning. Some one … come by here Lord … soft as lint rolled off th dryer filter, will steal in an cover it that it need not shiver, an carry it t her where she sleeps upon a freshly made bed when she lies dreaming.

Nosebleed seats with a view of the ceiling

Showing us to the back door, the alley entrance

Nosebleed seats with a view of the ceiling

While white folks watched from orchestra rows

Drinking from pristine porcelain fountains

While we sipped from rusted, murky spigots

“Colored” and “Whites Only” signs hung like nooses Lynching our dignity, reminding us of our place In this so-called land of the free

But in those balcony seats

Something miraculous happened Honed by the struggle,

Black soul caught fire Imaginations unchained, creativity unbound, We dreamed in rebellious Technicolor

Choreographed subversive steps

Choreographed subversive steps Wrote the soundtrack of America Bebop, hip hop, and funk

Wrote the soundtrack of America Bebop, hip hop, and funk

Penned poems that shook the system

Penned poems that shook the system Painted strokes that redefined art itself From that height in the balcony shadows

Painted strokes that redefined art itself From that height in the balcony shadows

The best view in the house was always ours To define the undefined Create the never before created

Improvise genius from scraps And leave our indelible mark Signed on this country’s faded playbill.

Now the balcony is a coveted place

Now the balcony is a coveted place Gentrified, commodified, suddenly prime real estate They scramble over themselves for a taste

Gentrified, commodified, suddenly prime real estate They scramble over themselves for a taste

Of that rarified air where we always resided Unaware it was flavored by our resilient breath Gary Simmons etched our names

In those Jim Crow theater seats

A bittersweet reminder

Of the crimes against our dignity

But also, a homage, a tribute To the unstoppable Black brilliance Forged and honed

In the balcony seating Only

La Shaun phoenix Moore is a Detroit-based vocalist, spoken word artist, activist, culture creator and wife.

In th mornings, she means t put on a pot of coffee or put a teapot t boil or pour herself a glass of juice. Before it seems, every room she walks into requires something of her. As usual, th brownies have not appeared at her house while she slept. Only th little bob-tailed dog following her, warm now but still whimpering.

Th bathroom floor has gathered coils of hair like storm clouds in every corner. Back in th bedroom, th sheets have become lopsided an demand more than gentle tugging t make th bed up neatly. In th kitchen, th boxes she left yesterday t be taken out for recycling sit on th counter waiting t be collapsed an carried t th bin. Th clean dishes remain in th dishwasher awaiting their return t th cupboards. A handful of cups an sundries lie on th bamboo dish drain calling t be put away.

Three plastic cups still soak in th sink where she placed them after discovering them on th coffee table beside a toppled deck of playing cards. She frowns recalling one cup sitting atop an empty journal she bought herself while on a trip t a Jamaican resort. It had been meant for writing her thoughts, not t be used as a coaster. Th bottom of th cup stuck t its cover. Th paper tore when she pried them apart. Th little bob-tail dog dropped his head, spying some crumb fallen beneath th table.

When you meet her in th daytime on th streets, th little dog is always around. You hardly notice it at first, an then, when she has forgotten th streets an alleys, an th large house where she goes t bed at night, a soft thing like fur begins t rub your leg, an you hear a low, scared voice, lonely, calling, an you know that a cool something nozzles damp in your palms. Sensitive things like nostrils, quiver. Her breath comes sweet as honeysuckle whose pistils bear th drop of morning light. An her eyes carry t where developers find no need for vestibules, for swinging on iron hinges, storm doors.

At night when she’s finished running errands an grocery shopping, she returns an turns th deadbolt on th big outside storm door; she again leaves th little dog in th chilly vestibule, while she goes about more household chores. She puts away grocery an stashes th bags behind th pantry door. She runs hot water an squeezes dish soap in plastic cups that are still caked with God knows what from having set for God knows how long. She stacks clean dishes an begins loading dirty dishes into th dishwasher. Then she dries her hands on a dishtowel which smells from overuse. So she takes it with th intent of dropping it in th laundry room hamper, only t discover th yellow light illuminated on th washing machine—clean—wet clothes expect th dryer.

She opens th dryer door t find a quilt, a pillowcase, bedding for th dog crate, an a few towels, which of course, need folding. She takes them into her bedroom, drops them on th bed. Returns t th laundry room, loads th wet clothes into th dryer one piece at a time, in order t catch those that require a hanger for air drying instead of th intense heat of th machine. She turns on th dryer and hangs th clothes that need hanging. She returns t fold th pile of laundry on th bed. Now there is a folded pile of laundry on her bed. And she has not yet had a cup of coffee or tea or a glass of juice.

She eats from a take-out container, pulled from behind a gallon of milk, still cold from th fridge. She drinks warm ginger ale. A loud-low belch erupts from her belly but there is no need t beg pardon of th empty room. Her fork lingers a moment while she looks beyond th sink out past th weathered fence, noting a red-breasted robin hopping along th pickets. Robins had seemed so common, but she had trouble remembering when she had last seen one perch an take flight. When was th last time she had even turned her eyes skyward?

Her soul is like a little bob-tailed dog, that follows her, whimpering. I’ve seen it tagging on behind her, up streets where chestnut trees flowered, where dusty asphalt had been freshly sprinkled with clean water. Up alleys where folks sat, wearing all of their belongings, on low door-steps of ruined limestone sanctuaries an sang an stopped hoping. At night, when she comes home, th little dog is left in th vestibule, nosing th crack beneath th big storm door, filled with chills till morning. Some one … come Jesus … soft as th bare feet of Christ moving across freshly fallen snow, will steal in and cover it that it need not shiver, and carry it t her where she sleeps: cradled in fresh-washed quilts.

V Efua Prince, Ph.D., explores critical aspects of African American women’s historical relationship to home, family, work, and the dynamics of Black family life.

More Than 1 Thing.

Sacred

More Than 1 Thing.

By Joel Fluent Greene

1. While they protest in the streets

Sacred

By Brittany Rogers

We clackin’ fans in the air

1. While they protest in the streets

We Tamia and wobble

We clackin’ fans in the air

We strollin’ the farmers market

We Tamia and wobble

We playin’ spades in a covered porch

We strollin’ the farmers market

We playin’ spades in a covered porch

We bouncin’ Black babies on our knees

We smokin’ good with the neighbor

We laughin’ hard with our uncle

We head noddin’ each other

We makin’ love over Luther

We head noddin’ each other

We makin’ love over Luther

We griot, we father

We lovin’ on our people

We online sharing light

We lovin’ on our people

We frolickin’ through the field

We online sharing light

We makin’ beautiful art

We frolickin’ through the field

We singin’ songs in the shower

We makin’ beautiful art

We readin’ books been awaiting

We singin’ songs in the shower

We readin’ books been awaiting

We swayin’ along with the choir

We start the grill for our Mama

We make her salmon and shrimp

We only break when still

Till den, we livin’ abundant.

2. My people!-

The church’s steeple-

2. My people!-

This is no time for laughter-

The church’s steeple-

This is no time for laughter-

Snark won’t save us

That Michelle meme won’t get us through

The Daily Show is irrelevant

SNL is corny

That Trump impersonation ain’t funny

Doom scrolling won’t prevent the impending

That Trump impersonation ain’t funny

More poison ain’t the antidote for poison

Doom scrolling won’t prevent the impending

Going back and forth with idiots ain’t it

More poison ain’t the antidote for poison

Going back and forth with idiots ain’t it

That think piece won’t save the world

That protest song ain’t revolution

Harmonizing won’t stop the heil

Hope in humanity shrinks by the second

Self satisfaction ain’t sacrifice

Smug looks won’t smother the flames

Self satisfaction ain’t sacrifice

Unfollowing celebrities isn’t the work

Smug looks won’t smother the flames

Posting stuff ain’t us collectively posting up

Unfollowing celebrities isn’t the work

Posting stuff ain’t us collectively posting up

Dem pundits ain’t our saviors

Old opinions won’t move us forward

Black preachers could do better

But misplaced anger has no placement

Pointing the wrong way leads to lost

Standing by is sitting down

Pointing the wrong way leads to lost

Taking a knee is subservient

Standing by is sitting down

Appealing to senses is nonsensical

Taking a knee is subservient

Appealing to senses is nonsensical

Acting obtuse is a problem

is a multidisciplinary

and life-long

in addition to being

Acting obtuse is a problem

Being a bitch ain’t an option

Loving thy neighbor ain’t always applicable

Lending sugar won’t lend you favor

Loving thy neighbor ain’t always applicable

Lending sugar won’t lend you favor

Parlor tap dancing won’t spare your children

Lap dancing in the back won’t earn yo papers

Parlor tap dancing won’t spare your children

Hating trans people ain’t protecting women

Lap dancing in the back won’t earn yo papers

Mistreating black women is bad karma

Hating trans people ain’t protecting women

Mistreating black women is bad karma

White women don’t equal freedom

White men don’t come with an armor

Hating white folk ain’t the way

Excusing whiteness is no longer accepted

Hating white folk ain’t the way

Excusing whiteness is no longer accepted

Calling just anyone an ally is dead

Denying allies don’t make collective

Calling just anyone an ally is dead

Intersectionality is a must

Denying allies don’t make collective

Intersectionality is a must

Magazine and co-host of VS Podcast, she is also author of the poetry collection Good Dress (Tin House, 2024), which was a NAACP Image Award finalist.

Brittany Rogers is a multidisciplinary artist and life-long Detroiter; in addition to being Editor-In-Chief of Muzzle

Magazine and co-host of VS Podcast, she is also author of the poetry collection Good Dress (Tin House, 2024), which was a NAACP Image Award finalist.

(Utilizing Google is an option)

Discounting our brothers ain’t the way

This is a time of anger-

Discounting our brothers ain’t the way

Rejecting a clubbed foot hurts the army

Ignoring trauma earns no stripes

Holding in won’t make you whole

Holding court won’t cure the sadness

A soulful sang won’t soothe a soul

Holding court won’t cure the sadness

Leaving this land won’t write the poem

A soulful sang won’t soothe a soul

This poem don’t shift the landscape.

Leaving this land won’t write the poem

This poem don’t shift the landscape.

This is a time of anger-

And there is only one answer-

Talkin’ round ain’t working out

We have to take to the streets.

Joel Fluent Greene is an Emmy Award winning poet, author, event curator, and educator born and based in Detroit.

Brittany Rogers

artist

Detroiter;

Editor-In-Chief of Muzzle

from Crossing

By Sherina Sharpe

from Crossing

By Sherina Sharpe

Nieves Fernandez (World War II,

Philippines)

Nieves Fernandez (World War II, Philippines)

If they capture you, herding you into the school, then I am the floorboards, the cast iron desk, the book’s unbent spine, I am each chair until I reach you.

Repeat after me:

I’m coming to get you.

Your name, the prayer I hum into my gunpowder.

They call me guerilla, aswang, black shrouded omen, silent killer. 10,000 pesos on my head.

Sherina (Detroit)

Sherina (Detroit)

When you arrive at the river, you must cross. Water is always in service of calling forth the truth. It swells and crests whispering, cross–these waves will hold you.

When you arrive at the river, you must cross. Water is always in service of calling forth the truth.

It swells and crests whispering, cross–these waves will hold you.

It is Midnight. Kneel at the river

The water is a mirror. Look into my own eyes and say,

I’ll mourn everything too scared to see me whole.

I eulogize anything too broken to hold my name.

I am the crossing.

Electric as gospel, Ain’t I a shrine to the unconquerable? I’m not the pain, I’m the deliverance. Let this joy rise,

Empire will say I’ve killed 200 men.

Empire will say I’ve killed 200 men. It was more.

Electric as gospel, Ain’t I a shrine to the unconquerable? I’m not the pain, I’m the deliverance. Let this joy rise,

Downed 7 for every stolen soul.

It was more. Downed 7 for every stolen soul.

I speak to predators in their mother tongue– breathlessness.

They count death.

How do you count an ocean of innocence restored? Touch your body. Count the cells I’ve opened.

Feel for your Divine Mothers.

I’ve never bore children.

But, if they took you, I would become your mother. Feral. This cord between us.

If they took you, dragging you into the mouth of the jungle, I am the crocodile, the lowlands, I am the dark belly of the sky, until I reach you.

If they snatch you, hauling you into the prison I am the tremoring concrete, The heart thump of the man folded around your back.

I am the hover of thickening air, until I reach you.

Mothers shape-shift, rebirthing ourselves to hold you again.

I become your breath humming your name.

Humming:

You are not here to consume brutality. You are here to live the Heaven inside yourself.

Speak your name like we taught you.

Sing my name to the river in the dulcet of the people who love me best. Awaken the ferocity of Elevated Ancestors who prayed me into existence. My name flight pattern whistling, my name mother-tongue hymn, my name drinking gourd, my name AtiAtihan conjure. Midnight Child.

Sing my name to the river in the dulcet of the people who love me best. Awaken the ferocity of Elevated Ancestors who prayed me into existence.

My name flight pattern whistling, my name mother-tongue hymn, my name drinking gourd, my name AtiAtihan conjure. Midnight Child.

Cross.

Give pain over to the river. And watch the sky tear itself into an obsidian reckoning. Midnight, because black is the space where everything is possible. Let the air echo Nieves, I’m coming to get you.

And I levitate– toes standing upon turquoise waves.

Cross.

My name braids a map, praise stepping us home. & this love between us conjured a reckoning of ancestors.

& I’ll be the alchemy they’ve summoned. & together, our names will be pronounced Amen

See metrotimes.com to read the full piece.

Sherina Rodriguez-Sharpe is Ceferina’s daughter, the Chiis mom, a minister, writer and director, channeling ancestral rituals, and guiding liberatory art movements with her partner, Chace and a constellation of loved ones, to transform trauma into joy, healing and authentic power.

Smoking with Emmett Till

By Lucianna Putnam

Smoking with Emmett Till

By Lucianna Putnam

I check the time. Nine o’clock. This is the longest I’ve waited for any spirit to arrive, but I keep the faith that eventually he’ll show up. I stare at the horizon, kicking stones off his Mississippi steps until they’re cleaner than when I arrived. I lay my head down.

I wake up to the sound of small, impish footsteps. My heart flutters. Is this him or just some kid from the block? If it is him, I brace myself for the sight. Bloated body, cuts, scrapes, and fractures riddling every inch of brown skin. I’ve seen the pictures from his funeral and, like most, had to wrestle through hiccuping gags. I keep my eyes closed tight, beginning to question my decision. Maybe it’s not too late to get on the next flight and go back home, far away from this place and its black and brown skeletons… No. I have to do this. Every spirit deserves a chance at closure. As my eyes focus, I realize the person before me is a young Black boy. But no bloating, no cuts, no scrapes.

It’s not him.

I exhale a breath of both relief and disappointment. The kid seems harmless, so I mutter a soft hello. I’m tumbling back into the chrysalis of rest when I hear the boy say something in a squeaky voice. Annoyed, I open my eyes. “What’d ya say?” I ask, Mississippi twang already tiptoeing into my dialect.

The boy lifts his head higher and speaks with a clearer tone. “I’m Emmett.”

I leap up and stare wide-eyed at the kid, looking

him up and down. Sure enough, it is young Emmett Till! He was wearing what any schoolboy would wear: a white button-up dress shirt, a black, silk-pressed neck tie peeking through the shirt, and a pair of black dress shoes, clean at the top but slightly muddied at the bottom. This must have been what he was wearing when he died. It checks out that his ghost would look like this and not like he did at his burial. This is the true Emmett Till.

“Hi,” I say sheepishly, still in awe. “Please, come sit down.” I pat the step next to me, the step he probably walked up a thousand times.

Emmett eyes me from the edge of the steps. After moments of looking me over, Emmett clears his throat and speaks in a shaky voice. “Ma’am,” he begins. “Are you… are you a white woman?” He emphasizes the word “white,” and he says it like “hwhite.” I can’t help but laugh, his tone both amusing and endearing.

“No,” I muster through a smile. “No, I’m Black, too.”

With this, Emmett seems more comfortable. He scoots closer, filling in the empty space.

Soon, another question. “What’s that?” Emmett points to the blunt.

I grow embarrassed. I’ve never smoked with someone so young. I pick up the blunt and conceal it in my pocket. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Emmett raises his eyebrow as though to say, “I don’t believe you.” I chuckle. “It’s weed. You smoke it. Like this.” I take the blunt back out of my pocket, then use the

ancestry.com reveals i am 24% spaniard

lighter to set it ablaze. Emmett’s eyes widen at the sparks.

“You smoke it?” he whispers, not taking his eyes off of the blunt.

“Yeah. Like this.” I put the blunt-tip to my lips and inhale slowly. Sparks fall onto the wooden steps. I exhale, smoke billowing from my mouth to the Mississippi wind.

I turn to look at Emmett. His eyes have narrowed as though he’s made a tough decision. “I wanna try.”

Now my eyes are the wide ones. “You sure?” I ask. Emmett nods. Emmett inspects it fully before putting it to his lips. He inhales, then mimics my exhale. I laugh as he coughs out clouds of smoke. “It’s strong, kid. Real strong.” I gesture to him to hand back the blunt, but he shakes his head. He takes one more small puff, blows it out sharply, coughs just as much as the first time, then hands the blunt back to me.

I smile tapping the end, the colored sparks landing on the ground. “You okay?” Emmett nods, pounding on his chest. “Will be,” he manages to say.

This time I burst out laughing. The history books never spoke of how funny this kid is. Was.

I muster up the courage to ask the question that I’ve been meaning to ask him. “Emmett, do you remember what happened to you?”

Emmett’s face freezes. He nods. I nod too.

ancestry.com reveals i am 24% spaniard

By jassmine parks

father i chase your absence across the ocean of our bloodline. i have never been good

at reading maps. i trace the imaginary lines that splits a coun try into itself the way my mother’s cervix, like the husk opening

I’m not sure what else to say. I know if I ask for details his ghost will vanish. I nod again. “I’m so sorry.” Emmett nods again, refusing to look me in the eye. He gestures for the blunt again and I hand it before after taking a long hit of my own. I begin to whistle to eradicate the silence.

for the cotton boll, spit my softself into a calloused world shaped by violence. do you have a good sense of direction? tell me of your missteps, your lost

for the cotton boll, spit my softself into a calloused world shaped by violence. do you have a good sense of direction? tell me of your missteps, your lost & found. i too am a wanderer forging my tongue out of foreign waters. padre, aquí está mi agua

& found. i too am a wanderer forging my tongue out of foreign waters. padre, aquí está mi agua

soy tu hija, terra incognita y mujer negra. me llamo jassmine y tú? my mother does not know.

i am a river carving a man out of nothing but the land blood & water we share.

jassmine parks is a poet, professor, and flowerchild currently obsessing over softening as a means to thrive & the sacred worlds black women build amongst each other as refuge.

“You can’t,” he whispers, looking around us as though someone dangerous is waiting to emerge from the shadows. “You can’t do that!” It takes me a moment to realize what he’s referring to. I stop whistling and smile sympathetically. “You know we can do that now, right Emmett? We can whistle if we want to.” Emmett’s face stays frozen, his fingers pinching the blunt so hard I picture it shattering into ash. I want to hug him, but I know he’s not palpable enough to touch. “We can whistle,” I repeat. I look at him and think this petrified face must have been the last one he ever made. Tears fill my eyes. I refuse to let them fall. I begin to whistle again, slowly, to ease him into it. His face begins to soften. “Go ahead,” I whisper. “You can do it too.”

Emmett for the first time looks me in the eye, probably assessing whether or not I truly mean him no harm. I’m sure he sees the tears in my eyes. He breaks his gaze, looks at the blunt in his small brown hands, takes one more hit, blows it out smoothly, then purses his lips.

Pleasure washes over me as he whistles his first note.

Lucianna Putnam is a young writer from Detroit.

Séance

By Zig Zag Claybourne

Hauntings didn’t go with the new occupant’s gentrification decor so they brought in a psychic to remove the ghost while at the same time asking her to prove she belonged.

The ghost tried memories, but everything falls through a ghost. She tried violence, but what are a few rattled pans and broken glasses? She tried feelings…

…but the only thing a ghost feels is birth, and there are few things the living hate being reminded of more than a fresh chance not their own.

“Without identity, we can’t help you cross over.” Help, when what they were saying was allow; what they were promising was eviction to show themselves what they thought was power. The ghost—I am God, I know all names—was Penelope in all lives, in all places.

You call them universes. Ghosts call them home.

I couldn’t show Penelope who she was. She had to live it, had to be it. Receive it. Every sunset seen. Remembrance of kites. Peppers tasted. Crying spells. Screaming at demons--demons who lied. Her first true epiphany. Fresh lettuce and tomatoes grown in pots. The smile of her nephew. Then her niece. Her son. A hammer.

The weight in hand. Building things slight pockets couldn’t buy. The joy of learning sounds that gradually became new language.

The ability to say hi and mean it.

Which is when she saw me, and knew my name, but did not speak it, as we were friends.

She said, “I am lost and no one knows me.” She said, “I am here but no one sees me.”

The more the psychic medium tried to be large inside the bones of Penelope’s longtime home, the more the heart of Penelope Grandina said, “This is bullshit.”

“Prove yourself” is always just another way to order “Give!”

Things Penelope knew as foolishness fell away:

They had forgotten the heat of passing through suns, the cold loving press of interplanetary dust, what sounded like galactic shrieks but were infinite love songs.

What they knew was white-knuckled hands around a table

The Dream of a Passenger in Peril

By Joshua Thaddeus Rainer

where candles sputtered. Fear assuaged by false demands and cheap lamentations.

Demands that said, “You don’t belong here,” when here is where Penelope had always been.

“You sit in my home before it was ever yours,” she wanted to tell them, but the universal constant of being so over it is fuck it.

So she headed for the stars.

While the new occupants lived chained to small patches of earth Penelope, now known and loved, warped out to Mars.

Zig Zag Claybourne, named by Book Riot as one of the “best Black indie sci-fi writers you should be reading,” is a Detroit novelist, essayist, and frequent contributor to anthologies.

Joshua Thaddeus Rainer is a native Detroit-based artist, instructor at the Birmingham Bloomfield Arts Center (BBAC), a 2024 International Studio and Curatorial Program (ISCP) artist-in-residence, and a graduate student at the Cranbrook Academy of Art.

SECOND HAND SMOKE

By Satori Shakoor

It happened a long time ago… way back in 1957. We was still livin’ in Alabama. My wife, Geneva had left early that mornin’ to clean house for a white lady on the other side of the hill. Mary, our baby girl is sleepin’ sound. I’m sittin’ there tryin’ to wind down after workin’ hard all night. But I can’t, you know. I’m out of smokes and feelin’ fidgety. See, back then, I was what you call a chain smoker. I’d light my next cigarette with the butt of the one I was smokin’. Let me run up to the corner store and get me a pack. I look at Mary. I don’t wanna wake her on account she sleepin’ so peaceful. Shoot. Wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to run up there and back. When the store clerk hand me the pack I rip it open and step outside. Can’t wait to taste that tobacco. Drag that smoke down in my lungs. Smoke...! I smell smoke. It comin’ from the direction of my house. Mary…! Cigarette fall out my mouth. I drop the pack, crushin’ it under my feet. I’m runnin’. Smoke real thick. It strong. I’m coughin’. Fire loud. Sound like a thousand whips crackin’ ‘cross the back of my hopes. Runnin’… chest burnin’… feel like it ‘bout to explode. I’m gaspin’ for air. Squinting. Coughing. Hoping. Praying. ‘God please, please, please…!’ But even through that thick, black smoke my watery eyes can see our tiny house is in flames. But Thank God. Thank you, Jesus, the volunteer firemen are there. I’m shoutin, ‘Did you get Mary out? Where Mary?’ Fireman stop me. “You can’t go in there, Herman. It too dangerous!” ‘But Mary in there! I got to get her out!’ I’m shoutin’, pushin’ my way toward the house. Fireman hold me back. “We doin’ our best. There’s a powerful lot of smoke.” Just then a second fireman run out. He coughin’ up a lung, carryin’ a little bundled blanket in his arms. I’m just about to thank Jesus when the Fireman say, he sorry. He couldn’t save Mary. What…? My mind don’t know what to do.

Just then I hear my name. “Herman…? HERMAN!” I turn around. Geneva at the top of the hill in her white apron with a broom in her hand. The look on her face ‘fore she

Untitled

By Lauren Williams

drop that broom and start runnin’ down the hill still haunts me to this day. I reach out to hug her up so she have somethin’ to hold onto when I tell her Mary gone. But when Geneva see my empty arms she push past me runnin’ toward the house, screamin’, “Mary…! MARY!” Fireman stop her. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Too much smoke. Wasn’t nothin’ we could do...” Geneva scream. She drop sudden, like her legs been chopped off. Her wail don’t sound earthly. It make the air stop breathin’. She fall face down. Hands grabbin’ up grass. Tears turnin’ dirt to mud. I pick her up, hold her to me. ‘It happened so fast. I was only gone a minute. I...’ Geneva look at me, hard. “Where was you? WHERE WAS YOU?” When she see my shame, her fists everywhere. Beatin’ my head. My face. My chest. I need her hate. I know my own will never be enough. I want her to kill me. But she faint when she see my bloody nose. We take her to the hospital. She never recover. Geneva can’t have no more babies. She damn near die givin’ birth to our Mary. Strick with grief, Geneva dwindle down to nothin’. Every now and again a tear roll down her cheek, but mostly her eyes blank. Geneva lose her mind that day. The only reason I didn’t lose mine was ‘cause she need me. Nobody ever know what cause that fire. But deep down I know it was me that kill Mary. Sure as if I done it with my own hands. Years later, after Geneva die, I meet Liam. He a grief counselor. Liam tell me I need to forgive myself. He tell me I done drag my guilt around and punish myself long enough. He say, “If you forgive yourself, maybe you can help other people with your story, Herman.” I say, ‘I don’t know, Liam. Some things don’t seem like they deserve forgiveness, even after forty-seven years. But I’m tryin’… and there do be times when life seem just a little bit better.’

Satori Shakoor is a 2017 Kresge Literary Arts Fellow, a dynamic storyteller, multidisciplinary artist, and social entrepreneur known for her bold and transformative work in the arts.

Lauren Williams (she/they) is a Detroit-based designer who works with visual and interactive media to understand, critique, and reimagine the ways social and economic systems distribute and exercise power over Black life and death.

PHOTO BY RADICAL PLAY STUDIO

The New Detroit, circa 2115

By Kahn Santori Davison

The New Detroit, circa 2115

By Kahn Santori Davison

The morning wind zipped between our ears as we hoverboarded down Michigan Avenue.

This was always the best part of the day for me and Christian; riding forty, in a hurry, electro-funk in our ears, and unfinished homework at our backs. We hit a somersault at 20th, then switched the tint on our smart glasses so we could high-five the sun before we got to school.

But it was about to be a shit show now because life at Gilbert high school sucked. See, Gilbert is for super rich kids. Kids whose parents run the companies that made the hoverboards we ride every day, kids whose parents own the corporations that make those ugly flying cars, and kids who have parents who never tell them about the old world (well, the old Detroit, as grandpa Joe calls it). Most of the students here are like walking programmable zombies. No personalities, no cool, just living off data and their expectations. Christian and both hated it.

See me and Christian were fellowship kids. We were supposed to be going to Helen Moore Academy, but we passed some funky test in 8th grade and were awarded the opportunity to go to high school without the rest of our friends. Yippeeeeeee! Had mamma acting like I had won the lottery or something. I mean, just because I’m bumping tablets with rich kids at Gilbert High don’t mean I’m going to have billions in bitcoin when I graduate. See she thinks money works like Covid — as long as you breathe the same air as someone who has it, you’ll catch some too. I begged her not to make me go to this school but she said, “You’re going to become a better version of yourself at that school, I just know it.”

Christian’s parents are no different. They used to live in the burbs back when the burbs were special, but had to pivot to a 2-family flat on the east side once GM stopped letting black people be in charge. In fact, his parents go crazier on him than mamma do on me. They’re always throwing out goofy ideas like, “Christian, you should invent a flying toaster!” Or “Christian, you should make a floating backpack so kids don’t need desks.” I mean Christian is the smartest friend I got, but dang, they be trippin’!

Now my grandpa Joe, on the other hand, is the opposite of both of our parents. He used to teach high school math. He even helped coach the football team before the sport was banned. He loves telling me stories about his grandfather working at a Chrysler factory on Jefferson, back when real people did real work, “Friendship and fellowship. That’s all we had,” he tells me. Now I don’t know exactly what that means, but I’m sure it has something to do with all the robots that currently work at that same factory. “The white man loves the robots because the robots don’t have no soul,” is his other favorite sayin’.

I caught up with Christian at lunch, and he told me he overheard a couple of teachers saying Tech was down. Tech is the statewide online babysitting system that tracks all our locations. You can’t take a poop or sneak a feel in the stairway without Tech snitching on you. We figured if we could skip the rest of our classes, with hopes that Tech wouldn’t come back up until the school day was over.

So we snuck out the side door the janitors use and hopped on our hoverboards, trying to figure out a destination.

“Hey, let’s go to those tunnels?” Christian asked.

The tunnels is this trashed out and fenced-in area on West Ford and Waterman. It was supposed to be downtown Detroit 2.0, but the 2.0 part never happened after they flattened out the land (the city of Detroit always does weird stuff like that). So now people just use it for a big ass trash can and setting old cars on fire. We mostly avoided the area because grandpa Joe says it’s full of ghosts. The story is that it was the last neighborhood from the old Detroit, and when the black people didn’t want to leave, the city just poured concrete on top of them. That’s where the phrase, “They built the new Detroit on top of the old Detroit,” comes from. I didn’t believe that, but I figured grandpa Joe and mama just didn’t want us getting into no trouble.

We rode to the tunnels, left our hoverboards by a busted fire hydrant, and slipped through a hole in the fence. One look around and it felt like something outta a Gotham City comic mixed with an old Dune movie. There were burnt out cars, old wood, piles of dirt, computer parts, and mountains of old tires resembling pyramids.

I looked at Christian and told him, “Tech is off, nobody will find us if we get gobbled up.”

“Fuck it,” he responded.

The whole area smelled like mama’s burnt eggs and papa Joe’s vomit. The further we walked, the worse it smelled and the higher the trash got. It was like the trash dumpers were trying to play Jenga with the damn trash.

Christian pointed and walked over to the blades of a forklift coming out of the ground. Next to it was a molded bible, and a stinky can of old tuna.

“What the fuck bro,” he said. “I think that’s blood on the blades bro!”

Suddenly, a skeletal frail face appeared yelling, “What you’re looking for is right here!”

Me and Christian started running QuickSilver, fast jumping over empty paint cans and construction piping along the way. The problem was, we couldn’t remember where the fence was we came in at. We kept looking back and he kept coming with a scraggly scream, “It’s right here, we’re all right here!”

Suddenly papa Joe appeared. It was like seeing black Jesus but not knowing if he was bringing love or a whip!

“Get your asses over here,” he said in his husky voice.

We found our boards, got in his car, and no one said a word the whole ride. Before we walked in the house, papa Joe turned, looked at me, and said, “I guess now you’ll believe me when I tell you the stories about the old Detroit.”

Kahn Santori Davison is from Detroit. He’s a husband and father of four and a selfdescribed “Kid who loves rap music”

The Cameras are Always Rolling Until…

By Natasha T Miller

The Cameras are Always Rolling Until…

By Natasha T Miller

A black woman is abducted around enough cameras for the scene to be considered a movie set.

They catch the teenage black boy selling weed outside the gas station, they miss the trans woman being set on fire at the pump.

A dilemma it is to be considered no one and still be erased

to be murdered in a forest full of people and your death still not make a sound.

To be taken from your home in broad daylight and no one angle shows the direction you are being deported in.

It’s funny how obsessed we are with looking but no looking for.

How easy it is to be watched and not be seen. How convenient it is for the lights to be on For the cameras to roll Until…

Natasha T Miller is a Detroit Native, Kresge fellow, World-renowned poet, author, and most recently the voice of the Ford and Michigan Central commercial.

Where Dreams Gather Dust

By Na Forest Lim

Where Dreams Gather Dust

By Na Forest Lim

In the quiet haze of a dust-laden garage, where tools whispered stories and sunlight filtered through decades of stillness, he dreamed aloud — not of grandeur, but of freedom. He arrived in 1998, seeking a foothold, bringing his older children and ex-wife, planting roots that have branched into a thriving family with nine grandchildren, all born on this soil. His youngest daughter, born just as thoughts of returning flickered, anchored him to this place, transforming fear into resolve. For the past 35 years, he’s worked on cars—a craft he loves— and today, he continues that work in a small, dusty garage that doubles as both sanctuary and cell. The dust makes him cough, but the doors stay shut. He doesn’t open them, fearing what might happen if he does. Still, his spirit remains hopeful. He dreams of a large auto shop one day, a place where his skills can breathe and grow. What he wants most is simple and powerful: “I want to see all people, not scared, living good, free, and outside.” His story is one of many, a reminder that behind every label or headline are real people, dreaming of a world where they can simply live.

Na Forest Lim (they/them) is an autistic, queer, and trans artist, film director, and photojournalist from South Korea, who practices sustainable poetic living in Waawiyaatanong, using visual storytelling to tenderly lift up the resilience of marginalized communities.

EMPLOYMENT

Senior Program Manager, Troy, MI, Carlex Glass America, LLC. Plan, engr, launch, & improve psgr vehicle glass products incl. laminated windshields (incl. partially & fully heated; backlite glass, & side windows) to achieve OEM customer prgm milestones incl. qlty, timing, cost, & dlvry reqmts. Coordinate dvlpmt, spec, & procurement of 1st generation eqpt. Organize & maintain commn. & relationships with various OEM vehicle maker depts incl. design engrg, plant qlty control, & purchasing, & supply base technical staffs. Utilize integral technologies incl. OEM Engrg Release Sys to track engrg redesign, dvlpmt, & evolution of each part. Create tooling dvlpmt plans considering mfg capacity, qlty historical data, design constraints & customer performance reqmts to dvlp initial prototype of engineered parts & incorporate parts into vehicle. Bachelor, Industrial, Mechanical, Automotive, or Industrial Robotics Engrg, or related. 60 mos exp as Engr, Engrg Supv, Prgm Mgr, or related, planning, engrg, & launching psgr vehicle glass products incl. laminated windshields; backlite glass & side windows to achieve OEM prgm milestones incl. qlty, cost, & dlvry reqmts, or related. E-mail resume to mdavis@carlex.com (Ref#4155).

EMPLOYMENT

Design Release Engineer, Farmington Hills, MI, Auto Kabel of North America Inc. Engr, design, dvlp, analyze qlty issues, & release high voltage (HV) busbars & wiring harnesses for Battery Electric Vehicle (BEV) Rechargeable Energy Storage Syss, & low voltage wiring harnesses, & pkg busbars, wiring harnesses, & subcmpts incl. electrical circuits, HV power supplies, connectors, terminals, clips, for psgr vehicles, using Siemens NX, Teamcenter, & Engrg Change Mgmt tools. Dvlp ADVP& Rs & validate lab tests of BEV busbars & wiring harnesses to meet ISO 115609 laser weld standard & compliance w/ USCAR 21 Cable-To-Terminal Electrical Crimps & USCAR 38 Ultrasonically Welded Wire/Cable Termination standards. Reqrd travel 40 days P/A to OEM Tech Ctr (Warren, MI), 20 days P/A to US/MEX vehicle assy plants to review engrg changes, qlty issues, cable industrialization, & launch timing; & 20 days P/A to Juarez MEX plant for 1st piece signoff & assy board reviews, for travel up to 80 days P/A. Bachelor, Electrical, Electronics, Automotive Syss or Industrial Engrg, or related. 24 mos exp as Engr or related, engrg, troubleshooting qlty, or analyzing issues of HV wiring harnesses, & performing or supporting design & pkgg of wiring harnesses & subcmpts incl. electrical circuit & terminal, for psgr vehicle, or related. E-mail resume to pedro.yu@autokabel.com (Ref#26375-211).

EMPLOYMENT

Controls Engineer, Brose North America, Auburn Hills, MI. Design, engr, & continuously improve Manufacturing Execution System (MES) w/ automated machinery, eqpt, & devices, & to analyze & control production, increase qlty traceability, & key performance indicators such as Overall Eqpt Effectiveness & eqpt availability, for mfg plants in NA region. Design, improve, & validate mechatronic controls for Programable Logic Controllers (PLCs) & Human Machine Interfaces (HMIs) for current & Industry 4.0-based plant control syss, & dvlp & implement SW standards for internal dept & suppliers to transmit data from PLCs & HMIs to MES, & ensure seamless commn. & secure data transfer betw automation devices, MES, & plant IT infrastructures. Plan, evaluate, review designs, engr, dvlp, & continuously improve PLC-based controls supporting pre-assy, assy & final assy stations & end of line testers & devices for seat & drive syss & door modules. Bachelor, Mechatronics, Mechanical, or Industrial Engrg, or related. 24 mos exp as Engr, Coord, or related, improving & validating controls for PLCs & HMIs for current & Industry 4.0-based plant control syss, & implementing SW standards to transmit data from PLCs & HMIs to MES, or related. E-mail resume to Jobs@brose.com (Ref#912).

WHAT’S GOING ON CONTD

Select events happening in metro Detroit this week. Be sure to check venue websites before all events for the latest information. Add your event to our online calendar: metrotimes.com/ AddEvent.

MUSIC

Wednesday Jun 25

Live/Concert

Cubist Agenda 8 pm-midnight; First Place Lounge, 16921 Harper Ave, Detroit; No Cover.

Howard Hewett 7:30 pm; The Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre, 2600 E. Atwater St., Detroit; $15-$70.

Thursday Jun 26

Live/Concert

DISPATCH W/JOHN BUTLER (WITH BAND) -SUMMER TOUR

2025 6 pm; Meadow Brook Amphitheatre, 3554 Walton Blvd., Rochester Hills; $29.50-$99.50.

Kate Hinote Trio wsg Emily Rose - Stowaways Album Release Show! 7-10:30 pm; Valentine Distilling Co.-Cocktail Lounge, 161 Vester Avenue, Ferndale; $17.50 - $30.

DJ/Dance

Groove Night 10 pm-2 am; Spkr Box, 200 Grand River, Detroit;

Karaoke/Open Mic

Continuing This Week Karaoke/ Open Mic

Drag Queen Karaoke 8 pm-2 am; Woodward Avenue Brewers, 22646 Woodward Ave., Ferndale; no cover.

Friday Jun 27

Live/Concert

PUG FEST III noon-2 am; multiple venues, all weekend; Ferndale; thepleasantunderground.com. $85.

DJ/Dance

ARCS at The Alley Deck 9 pm; Garden Bowl, 4120 Woodward, Detroit; Open Air Fridays 4-10 pm; Woodbridge Pub, 5169 Trumbull St., Detroit; 0.

Plantrae * Gar Den Boi * Devin is Dead * Celestia Grey 7 pm-2 am; Tangent Gallery & Hastings Street Ballroom, 715 E. Milwaukee Ave., Detroit; $20.

Siren presents: PRIDE MONTH 9 pm; Marble Bar, 1501 Holden St., Detroit; $10.85-$21.70.

Saturday June 28

Live/Concert

Clark Park Culture and Arts Festival Southwest Fusion of Art and Sound 1-4 pm; Clark Park, 1161 Clark Avenue, Detroit; Free.

Devo: 50 Years Of De-evolution... continued! 7 pm; The Fillmore, 2115 Woodward Ave., Detroit; $65-$125.

DJ/Dance

DAYDREAMS 2-10 pm; Woodbridge Pub, 5169 Trumbull St., Detroit;

Sunday Jun 29

Live/Concert

Big Sean & Friends with Detroit Symphony Orchestra 7 pm; Detroit Public Theater, 3711 Woodward Avenue, Detroit;

Orchestral Manoeuvers in the Dark 6 pm; Royal Oak Music Theatre, 318 W. Fourth St., Royal Oak; Phil Ogilvie’s Rhythm Kings 5-8 pm; Zal Gaz Grotto Club, 2070 W. Stadium Blvd., Ann Arbor; No Cover (tipjar for the band).

DJ/Dance

BSV’s House Brunch on The Alley Deck 1 pm; Garden Bowl, 4120 Woodward, Detroit;

Karaoke/Open Mic

Continuing This Week Karaoke/ Open Mic

Sunday Karaoke in the Lounge 5-9 pm; Bowlero Lanes & Lounge, 4209 Coolidge Hwy., Royal Oak; 0.

Monday Jun 30

Live/Concert

A Skylit Drive, Enox, Dizasterpiece, Walking Down Main 6 pm; Sanctuary Detroit, 2932 Caniff St., Hamtramck;

The Tribute to Hasting Street ft

Bob’s White Hasting Street Band 7:30-10 pm; Aretha’s Jazz Cafe, 350 Madison St., Detroit; $35.

DJ/Dance

Adult Skate Night 8:30-11 pm; Lexus Velodrome, 601 Mack Ave., Detroit; $5.

Tuesday Jul 1

Live/Concert

Sean Blackman’s In Transit 7-10 pm; Northern Lights Lounge, 660 W. Baltimore St., Detroit; no cover.

Karaoke/Open Mic

Continuing This Week Karaoke/ Open Mic

Open Mic : Art in a Fly Space 7-10 pm; Detroit Shipping Company, 474 Peterboro St., Detroit; no cover.

Tuesday Karaoke in the Lounge 8 pm-midnight; Bowlero Lanes & Lounge, 4209 Coolidge Hwy., Royal Oak.

Wednesday Jul 2

Live/Concert

Cubist Agenda 8 pm-midnight; First Place Lounge, 16921 Harper Ave, Detroit; No Cover.

Matt Larusso Trio and guests 8-11 pm; Northern Lights Lounge, 660 W. Baltimore St., Detroit; no cover.

Jazzy Night Series 7:30 pm; The Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre, 2600 E. Atwater St., Detroit; $15-$70.

Will Downing 7:30 pm; The Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre, 2600 E. Atwater St., Detroit;

DJ/Dance

Planet Funk 7-10 pm; Spkr Box, 200 Grand River, Detroit;

Thursday Jul 3

Live/Concert

Dueling Pianos: An Interactive Entertainment Experience 8 pmmidnight; AXIS Lounge, 1777 3rd St., Detroit.

The Psychedelic Furs 8 pm; Caesars Palace Windsor - Augustus Ballroom, 377 E. Riverside Dr., Windsor; $33-$88.

Tower of Power 7:30 pm; The Aretha Franklin Amphitheatre, 2600 E. Atwater St., Detroit; Tyler, The Creator - CHROMAKOPIA: THE WORLD TOUR 7 & 7:30 pm; Little Caesars Arena, 2645 Woodward Ave., Detroit; $54.50-$194.50.

DJ/Dance

Elixer: DJs John Ryan and GEO 8 pm-midnight; Northern Lights Lounge, 660 W. Baltimore St., Detroit; No cover.

Saturday Jul 5

Live/Concert

Murphy’s Law wsg The Take and

Busby Death Chair 7 pm; Small’s, 10339 Conant St., Hamtramck;

DJ/Dance

Saturday Grind 11 am-3 pm; Spkr Box, 200 Grand River, Detroit;

Sunday Jul 6

Live/Concert

Back by Popular Demand: The Nina Simone Tribute performed by Faye Bradford 4-6 pm; Pontiac Little Art Theatre, 47 N. Saginaw St., Pontiac; $35.

Karaoke/Open Mic

Continuing This Week Karaoke/ Open Mic

Sunday Karaoke in the Lounge 5-9 pm; Bowlero Lanes & Lounge, 4209 Coolidge Hwy., Royal Oak; 0.

Monday Jul 7

DJ/Dance

Adult Skate Night 8:30-11 pm; Lexus Velodrome, 601 Mack Ave., Detroit; $5.

Tuesday Jul 8

Live/Concert

Sean Blackman’s In Transit 7-10 pm; Northern Lights Lounge, 660 W. Baltimore St., Detroit; no cover.

Wu-Tang Forever: The Final Chamber 8 pm; Little Caesars Arena, 2645 Woodward Ave., Detroit; $54.50$194.50.

DJ/Dance

Soul Tone second Tuesday of every month, 9 pm-2 am; The High Dive, 11474 Joseph Campau Ave., Hamtramck;

Karaoke/Open Mic

Continuing This Week Karaoke/ Open Mic

Open Mic : Art in a Fly Space 7-10 pm; Detroit Shipping Company, 474 Peterboro St., Detroit; no cover.

Tuesday Karaoke in the Lounge 8 pm-midnight; Bowlero Lanes & Lounge, 4209 Coolidge Hwy., Royal Oak; 0.

THEATER

Performance

Matrix Theatre Company June Devised Theatre Workshop & Open Lab Ready to Create, Collaborate, and Play?

Join us for a Devised Theatre Workshop and open lab at Matrix Theatre Company on Thursday, June 26th, from 7 to 10 PM! Whether you’re new to devised

theatre or a seasoned performer, this is your space to experiment, move, and make something original! Create through imagination, collaboration & improvisation — no script required. Open to ALL levels — from first-timers to professionals. Come play. Come create. Come be seen. Workshop: 7PM–8PM | Sliding Scale: $10–$20 Open Lab: 8PM–10PM | Pay What You Want 2730 Bagley St, Detroit, MI | matrixtheatre. org $10-20 Thursday 7-10 pm.

Meadow Brook Amphitheatre

The Music of John Williams with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra $25-$65 Sunday July 6, 7:30 pm.

Musical

Fisher Theatre - Detroit The Wiz (Touring) Wednesday 7:30 pm, Thursday 7:30 pm, Friday 7:30 pm, Saturday 2 & 7:30 pm and Sunday 1 & 6:30 pm.

COMEDY

Stand-up

The Old Miami WDET’s ‘What’s So Funny About Detroit?’ Comedy Showcase Mark your last Thursdays! What’s So Funny About Detroit? is coming back to the gorgeous backyard of the Old Miami with host extraordinaire, Ryan Patrick Hooper (In The Groove, M-F, 12-3p). A fresh six-pack of Detroit’s most talented comedians will take the stage on May 29th, June 26th, July 31th, and August 28th to showcase what, indeed, is so funny about the Motor City. And we finally have one landing page where you can pick up your tickets to all four shows in advance! $25 Thursday 7-8:30 pm.

The Independent Comedy Club at Planet Ant The Sh*t Show Open Mic: Every Friday & Saturday at The Independent A weekly open mic featuring both local amateurs and touring professionals. Doors open at 8:30 p.m. and the show begins at 9 pm.. The evening always ends with karaoke in the attached Ghost Light Bar! Doors and Sign up 8:30 p.m. Show at 9 p.m. $5 suggested donation. Attached bar Ghost Light opens at 7 p.m. $5 Suggested Donation Thursdays, 9-10:30 pm.; A late night, heckle encouraged, show up, go up stand-up open mic featuring both local amateurs and touring professionals. Sign up starts at 10:30 and the show begins at 11p. Doors and Sign Up 10:30p | Show at 11p | $5 Suggested Donation* Attached bar Ghost Light opens at 7p The independent Comedy Club is a comedy club run by comics for comics inside Planet Ant Theatre. The club runs Thursdays, Fridays, and

Saturdays, offering independently produced comedy shows from 8p12a. Presented by Planet Ant *Planet Ant Theatre, Inc. is a 501c3 nonprofit organization; no ticket or reservation is required $5 Suggested Donation Fridays, Saturdays, 11 pm-1:30 am.

Dance lessons

Continuing This Week Dance lessons

The Commons Ballroom Dance Lessons Ballroom Dance lessons in the community laundry mat 5.00 first Friday of every month, 6-7 pm.

FILM

Artist talk

Book Launch: Eventually Everything Connects Join us on Thursday, June 26, for a free panel discussion celebrating the launch of “Eventually Everything Connects: Mid-Century Modern Design in the US,” the exhibition catalog published by Phaidon to accompany our landmark exhibition of the same name. Curators Andrew Satake Blauvelt (Director, Cranbrook Art Museum) and Bridget Bartal (MillerKnoll Curatorial Fellow) will be joined by Amy Auscherman (Director of Archives and Brand Heritage, MillerKnoll) for a conversation celebrating the book and show. The book signing will take place at 6pm, and the panel discussion will begin at 6:30pm. This event is free and open to all! Thursday 6-8 pm; Cranbrook Art Museum, 39221 N. Woodward Ave., Bloomfield Hills; Free; 2486453323; cranbrookartmuseum.org/events/ book-launch-eec/.

Art Exhibition

Northville Art House Stories in Stitches: Fabric Art Exhibition Join us for the exhibition that celebrates artists who have transformed fiber into a medium for storytelling, using techniques such as quilting, weaving, embroidery, stitching, and more to create floor, sculpture, wall and installation pieces. The artwork offers a unique window into each artist’s perspective, inviting viewers to connect with the universal power of the narrative. The public is Las invited to the Opening Reception, Friday, May 30, 5 - 8 pm. Snacks and Cash Bar. All free admission. Free Fridays, Saturdays, 11 am-3 pm and Tuesdays-Thursdays, 10 am-5 pm.

30th Anniversary Treehouse for Earth’s Children is Celebrating its 30th Anniversary June 28th Saturday from 1:00pm - 5:00pm Treehouse in Farmington Indoors and outdoor tent We Thank all those who have kept Treehouse alive! Treehouse is creating a small change of tender loving care! Music with DJ, dancing, food samples, Quintessence Punch bowl. Bodywork, Reflexology, cranial, foot bathes, infrared sauna, emotox and much more fun. First come first serve Show and tell at 4:00pm, Saturday 1-5 pm; The Treehouse for Earth’s Children Health and Holistic Center, 22906 Mooney St., Farmington; free; 248-473-0624.

COMMUNITY

Sound Board Theater Jay Pharoah to Headline “Bullying Is No Joke 9” To Benefit Anti-Bullying Non-Profit, Defeat the Label Anti-Bullying NonProfit Defeat the Label is proud to present “Bullying Is No Joke 9”, featuring actor and comedian Jay Pharoah at the Sound Board at MotorCity Casino Hotel, June 27th, at 8:00pm, 2901 Grand River Ave, Detroit, MI 48201. General Admission: USD 100.00 Friday 8-11 pm.

LITERARY EVENT Books Opening

The Congregation Detroit A Promise of Sirens Book Launch “Barycz whisks together American and European folklore into a gumbo of murder mystery, political drama, and urban fantasy.” Publishers Weekly Celebrate along with local author V.L. Barycz on July 8th. There will be books for purchase, free swag for the first one hundred readers, and author signing & reading. FREE Tuesday July 8, 5:30-8:30 pm.

Festival

Avenue of Fashion Light Up Livernois LIGHT UP LIVERNOIS fashion, art, design festival, celebrates, and “illuminates” Detroit’s unrivaled creative class. The event showcases our most notable designers, architects, fashion talent, visual artists, and more. It shines light on the amenities along the avenue, as we “park, walk, shop, dine, and explore,” Detroit’s “makers,” and its re-emerging Livernois merchant corridor. Produced by IBA Detroit CDC. Saturday July 5, 12-8 pm.

FOOD

Street Beet expands to ’burbs

Street Beet is expanding to the suburbs.

The popular plant-based pop-up, which is getting ready to open its first brick-and-mortar in the former Bobcat Bonnie’s space in Detroit, says it will also expand to downtown Birmingham.

The Birmingham location will be situated inside a grocery store at 233 N. Old Woodward Ave. with a walk-up window for carry-out and grab-and-go orders.

“We’ve always wanted to bring Street Beet to the suburbs and expand into more neighborhoods, so when we got the opportunity to post up inside of a bodega in Birmingham, it was a no-brainer,” Street Beet’s Meghan Shaw said in a press release. “This is the perfect next step in the Street Beet world takeover — proving that plantbased food isn’t boring, that you don’t have to be vegan to enjoy it, and that we can make the world a better place, one fried ‘chicken’ sandwich at a time.”

Street Beet says it has partnered with a hedge fund with the goal of “making Street Beet a household name — reaching people from all backgrounds, neighborhoods, and walks of life.”

Additional locations in Rochester and Ann Arbor are also in the works, the

company says.

In the meantime, Street Beet is still operating out of the Third Street Bar in Midtown. It says it plans to open its

location at 1800 Michigan Ave. in Detroit’s Corktown neighborhood by the end of July.

—Lee DeVito

HopCat readies Downriver grand opening

HopCat is almost ready to open its first Downriver location.

The Southgate location is set to open to the public on Monday, June 30.

A grand opening celebration is set to start at 10 a.m. on Saturday, July 12, where the first 200 customers will win free Cosmik Fries for a year. HopCatbranded swag will also be available while supplies last.

A Charity Night is also planned from 5-10 p.m. on Saturday, June 28 to serve the HopCat Employee & Community Assistance Fund to support HopCat employees and Southgate community members facing financial hardships. A $15 donation includes a reserved seat and a complimentary meal. Reservations must be made at opentable.com.

The bar will have 40 curated beers on tap and seat up to 260 customers, including on its patio.

“With HopCat’s unique menu, friendly staff and vibrant décor, they will most certainly become a favorite venue for our residents and those visiting throughout the Downriver area,” Southgate mayor Joseph Kuspa said in a statement. “We appreciate HopCat’s decision to locate here and are excited to welcome this new business to Southgate.”

The new store is located at 15231 Trenton Rd. inside a former Old Chicago Pizza + Taproom.

HopCat has 11 locations in Michigan and one in Nebraska.

—Lee DeVito

Detroit Montessori school sues to stop Chick-fil-A development

A Montessori school on Detroit’s east side has filed a lawsuit to stop construction of a Chick-fil-A restaurant next door, alleging the drive-thru project violates zoning laws, threatens public safety, and could force the school to shut down.

Giving Tree Montessori, which serves 116 children from infancy through kindergarten, filed the complaint Friday in Wayne County Circuit Court against Verus Development Group and Chickfil-A.

The school contends that the 3,000-square-foot, drive-thru-only restaurant, which would operate feet from its playground, violates a city ordinance prohibiting fast-food restaurants within 500 feet of a school.

“The development threatens the School’s ability to operate safely, which could lead to a loss of enrollment and potentially force the School to close,” the lawsuit states.

The school is seeking a court order to stop construction and a declaratory judgment that the city’s actions were improper and unlawful. Among its key arguments:

• Zoning violation: The project defies Detroit’s zoning code, the lawsuit says, by placing a drive-thru restaurant within prohibited distance of an active school.

• Safety risks: The school cites serious concerns about vehicle traffic, exhaust emissions, noise, and disruptions adjacent to an outdoor play area for toddlers and kindergartners.

• Irreparable harm: The suit warns the restaurant could lead to declining enrollment and force the school to close due to unsafe and unsuitable learning conditions.

The development has drawn opposition from parents, educators, and neighbors, including at public meetings where dozens spoke out against the plan. The city initially rejected the project in October 2023 over traffic concerns, but the Detroit Board of Zoning Appeals overturned that decision in March.

City officials have argued the 500-foot restriction doesn’t apply because Giving Tree wasn’t officially recognized as a school under zoning rules until June 2024, two months after the zoning was

approved. But the lawsuit says that’s a technicality meant to justify a decision that favors developers over children’s safety.

Demolition began in May without notice or fencing, prompting the city to temporarily halt the work. A sign went up days later, reading, “Chick-fil-A Coming Soon.”

“There’s no way I can expose these kids to what’s going to go on there — the exhaust fumes, the cigarette smoke, the swearing, and the rodents,” Giving Tree owner Renee Chown told Metro Times last month.

Metro Times couldn’t reach Verus Development Group or Chick-fil-A for comment.

—Steve Neavling

Street Beet is known for its plant-based takes on comfort food. ANTHONY RASSAM

Detroit

Wes Anderson gets weird and hilarious in ‘The Phoenician Scheme’

The Phoenician Scheme

Rated: PG-13

Run-time: 101 minutes

I’m tired of apologizing for my love of the films of Wes Anderson. Here’s my hard line: I don’t begrudge anyone who doesn’t like Anderson’s movies. The combination of quirk, whimsy, intricate sets, obsessive symmetry, bright color palette, and hyper-specific aesthetic isn’t for everyone, nor should it be. But where I do take issue is with people who say that all of his movies are the same. They’re not. Not even close. Do they have a similar vibe? Absolutely. But the content of his films, while having some similar touchstones, has as much thematic depth as any other auteur currently working.

A few years ago I rewatched his filmography and tried to spotlight just a few of the differences in his work. Here’s a brief look at his range:

Bottle Rocket (1996) is the outlier because it doesn’t carry most of Anderson’s trademark idiosyncrasies, but still effortlessly combines a West Texas crime comedy with the iconoclastic existentialism of the French new wave.

Rushmore (1998) To be young, brilliant and deeply misunderstood by all around

By Jared Rasic | Last Word Features

you is one of Anderson’s favorite themes, but Max Fischer isn’t just a representation of Anderson’s loneliness, but a synecdoche for outcasts everywhere.

The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) Unpacking the unrealized expectations we have in life, whether it’s our disappointment in a father, our acceptance of the tenacity of loss or learning that waves of melancholy can be ridden forever.

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004) Starring a fearlessly unsympathetic Bill Murray, this was the first film of Anderson’s career to fail critically, but in re-evaluation is seen as the result of his unchecked idiosyncrasies bleeding into influences like Cousteau and Orson Welles.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) Three brothers carrying their literal and metaphorical baggage across India in a quixotic search for absentee love, this film sees Anderson dialing his melancholy up to 100, while also opening himself up existentially to the unknown adventures and failures we become mired in throughout life.

The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009) Perfectly incorporates Anderson’s style into the world of Roald Dahl, while marrying quirk and handmade humanity into something that feels like the cinematic equivalent of your favorite vinyl record.

Moonrise Kingdom (2012) Captures childhood love with nostalgia and tender-

did Jackson Pollock. So did Picasso. The artifice of his flawlessly constructed symmetric sets is belied by the fact that all the emotions present in the characters are messy and chaotic.

Anderson’s new film, The Phoenician Scheme, is filled with a lot of his same obsessions: a distant parental figure, inept criminals, irrational romanticism, self-deluded existential depression, and spiritual constipation in people starving for God. In no world will The Phoenician Scheme convert disgruntled old fans or bring new ones into the Anderson cinematic universe, but it’s probably his funniest film since The Fantastic Mr. Fox. Plus, with cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel stepping in for longtime Anderson collaborator Robert Yeoman, it has a texture unlike any we’ve seen from him before. This is Anderson with a slight dash of grit and grime.

ness, while also achingly exploring the unlimited limitations of youth.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) Anderson starts deconstructing the actual art and structure of storytelling as he builds a Russian nesting doll of a plot with a woman in the modern day reading a book written in 1985 about a story the author was told on vacation in 1968 about the Grand Budapest Hotel in 1932.

Isle of Dogs (2018) The one I’ve gone back to the least because this doesn’t marry Anderson’s astonishingly bleak story to his influences as invisibly as he normally does. This is Anderson at his most bitter, which I’m not sure I appreciate as much as I should.

The French Dispatch (2021) Anderson’s most whimsical film is also his first anthology, with stories ranging from the hauntingly moribund to the deepest appreciation of the written word he has ever expressed.

Asteroid City (2023) takes the artificiality of the stage and presses heartbreak, loss, loneliness, fear, and existential dread into its margins, creating another metatextual comedy soaked in the sadness of everyday life.

To say that Anderson repeats himself over and over again is lazy and misses the forest for the perfectly manicured tiny forest inside the larger one. If Anderson is repeating himself, so did Godard. So

The plot doesn’t matter in the same way the mystery of The Big Lebowski is superfluous to watching the dude accidentally stumble through a film noir. The always wonderful Benicio del Toro plays Zsa-Zsa Korda, an arms dealer/business tycoon attempting to change the world through an impossible-for-me-to-describe-in-twosentences scheme. He teams with many disreputable men and women, including his estranged daughter, a Catholic novitiate played by the instant movie star Mia Threapleton, a Norwegian entomologist (a perfect Michael Cera), a Phoenician crown prince, French gangsters, revolutionaries and even God (played by Bill Murray, obviously).

While the story is fun and ridiculous in equal measure, the inner lives of these characters are the real joy here. That’s the epiphany I’ve had while watching Anderson lately. The artifice of his aesthetic and design doesn’t just exist to showcase his peculiar peccadillos, but instead acts as a counter-balance to the very real human emotion. When we see del Toro in spiritual pain, it hits harder when surrounded by an artificiality already inherent in movies. This is Anderson very intelligently saying that all external stimuli can feel like set dressing compared to whatever turmoil is churning beneath the surface.

No one is required to like the movies of Wes Anderson, but to say he’s making the same movie over and over is actively not engaging with the work itself on the level it deserves. Anderson is a genius, and whether or not one appreciates his highly mannered and idiosyncratic style, it is mercifully subjective. And his singular vision is one that I guarantee will be studied a hundred years from now alongside Jacques Tati, Ingmar Bergman, and JeanLuc Godard. I’m calling it now.

Grade A-

Film

Wes Anderson’s latest movie, The Phoenician Scheme, mixes divine absurdity, emotional pain, and symmetrical chaos. FOCUS

MUSIC WEED

The Straight Dope

Why Exotic Matter’s tiny grow is beating big weed in Michigan

By Steve Neavling

In 2009, Jesse Rose and a small group of friends began growing medical marijuana in a pole barn in Michigan, driven by a passion for quality cannabis.

Sixteen years later, their company, Exotic Matter, is widely regarded as one of Michigan’s best small-scale cultivators, known for producing premium flower and live rosin.

Unlike many of the hundreds of licensed cultivators in Michigan, Exotic Matter maintains an intentionally limited production, growing about 500 indoor plants at its facility in Kalkaska. This results in roughly 10 to 15 pounds per strain.

“We put out a tiny amount compared to everyone else in the state,” Rose, founder of Exotic Matter, tells me. “For the customer, we’re there to give them a good time. They’ve had a long day, and they want to enjoy good herb.”

Exotic Matter’s cannabis is so popular it rarely remains on dispensary shelves for long, which is rare at a time when the state is saturated with weed.

Without deep-pocketed investors, Exotic Matter started slowly and scaled up, creating a growing and loyal customer base.

“We are really owner-operators in the true sense of the word,” Rose says. “Because of the way we did it, we funded it ourselves. We don’t have investors; we have no one we have to answer to.”

Exotic Matter’s small-scale operation allows the team to pay close attention to each plant. With only 500 plants growing at a time, it’s easier to adjust the environment, check for problems, and make sure the flower is at peak quality.

That kind of care is nearly impossible at large grows, where automated systems and high volume often sacrifice consistency and quality.

Exotic Matter also cures its flower in small batches and hand-trims each bud, a labor-intensive process that helps preserve trichomes and terpenes that are often lost in machine-trimmed or rushed harvests.

Exotic Matter is also unique because most of its flower is sold in sleekly designed, half-ounce glass jars, each of which is priced between $85 and $100. The ability to so quickly sell out of half-ounce jars speaks to Exotic Matter’s reputation for producing consistently

high-quality cannabis.

Previously, the company sold cannabis primarily in eighth-ounce mylar bags. A few dispensaries sell Exotic Matter in the deli.

With prices plummeting in Michigan, Rose says it became a good time to offer half-ounce jars.

“As prices go down, the amount of product that real smokers want is bigger,” Rose says. “It allows people to buy something they’re stoked on.”

And he’s right. While prices and total sales numbers continue to decline, dispensaries are selling more cannabis than ever. It’s just cheaper.

And in that competitive environment, brands that prioritize quality over quantity, like Exotic Matter, are separating themselves from the pack.

Exotic Matter divides its flower offerings into two main selections: Candy World and Exclusives. Candy World features candy-flavored strains such as Blueberry Z, Cali Red Runtz, Cali Blue Runtz, Lemon Cherry Runtz, and Blue Cherry Gelato.

“They’re very popular strains,” Ty Decoeur, who handles sales and marketing, says. “We like to say, ‘It’s a candy world. We’re just living in it.’”

Blueberry Z

I got my hands on a jar of Blueberry Z and was very impressed. The buds were covered in trichomes and burst with a tart flavor of blueberry candy. A cross between the legendary DJ Short Blueberry and Zkittlez, this is one of those strains that is both flavorful and potent.

Exotic Matter’s Exclusives selection includes unique strains bred in-house, such as Sour Mochi (Mochi Gelato x Sour Diesel), Red Bullz #17 (Grape Gas x White Runtz), Lemon Cherry Gelato (Runtz x Gelonade), Blue Yuzu (classified), Umami Yuzu (Pave x Gelonade), and several others developed from exhaustive hunts for the best phenotypes.

Another standout strain from the Exclusives line is Headmaster Kush, a mysterious hybrid first discovered by the team in a random bag from California in 2009. Its flavor profile is complex, featuring watermelon, gasoline, cheese, pine, and hops. It became the first plant Exotic

Matter cloned, and it’s still one of the company’s most sought-after strains.

“It’s unlike anything we’ve ever grown,” Rose says. “People love it.”

Exotic Matter also specializes in live rosin, a solventless concentrate known for its purity and potency. Priced at about $50 for two grams, Exotic Matter’s rosin offers exceptional value compared to market rates often ranging from $35 to $70 per gram for high-quality rosin.

“Fifty dollars for two grams is crazy for how good they are,” Decoeur says. “The goal is for you to walk home and say, ‘That is fucking awesome to get that for that price.’”

Indeed, that’s how I felt.

Rose and his crew produce their rosin from the 1,500 plants they grow outdoors on terraced land along an ancient creek bed feeding into the Manistee River. The land has been in Rose’s family for more than a century.

“We’re going to do a lot of new exciting crosses for rosin,” Rose says. “We aren’t going to expand the farm. We’re just going to make it better.”

I sampled four rosin strains from Exotic Matter, and each one was flavorful, smooth, and uniform, and they all packed a punch. Full of fruity flavors, they also happen to be perfect summer strains. The two-gram jars are glass and colorfully packaged.

Papaya

With a clean, tropical fruit aroma, Papaya was one of my favorites. The badder is smooth, creamy, and easy to handle, with a nice light-yellow hue. The high was deeply relaxing and ideal for a late afternoon or evening, or anytime you want to zone out and just enjoy life.

Caribbean Cooler

Caribbean Cooler smells and tastes like ripe tropical fruit spiked with a hint of funk. It’s soft and creamy to the touch, with a smooth consistency. The high came on quickly and left me feeling relaxed and carefree.

Orange Yuzu

A cross of Superboof and Gelonade, this one hits with a bold citrus punch right out of the jar. The rosin has a smooth, creamy texture and that ideal lightyellow color you love to see in rosin. The high was bright, happy, and perfect for any time of day you need a lift up.

Purple Drank

From the first whiff, this combination of Papaya and OZ Melon lives up to its name. The aroma is sour grape candy, with a hint of sweet syrup. The rosin has a bright, wet look and is easy to work with. The high is smooth and settles into a relaxed, full-body calm.

While many cultivators churn out mass-produced, low-cost cannabis, Exotic Matter stands out for its focus on small-batch quality and attention to detail. When the crew is unhappy with how a strain turned out, it’s not sold.

“It really hurts your brand for people to spend their hard-earned money to buy bullshit,” Rose says. “We’re just trying to keep weed fun and put out stuff that we would be happy to buy.”

In addition to cultivation, the Exotic Matter crew operates The Trap, a popular dispensary in Muskegon.

The company also organizes Michigan’s Zalympix, an annual cannabis competition attracting top growers and rosin producers statewide. Participants judge brands in categories like Best Looking, Best Tasting, Heaviest Hitting, and Gassiest. In 2024, the competition included 24 flower brands and 14 rosin brands. Zalympix is coming back this year, with an announcement coming soon.

Decoeur says the working environment at Exotic Matter is uniquely rewarding.

“It feels like we’re just working on this dope project with the homies,” he says. “It’s really crazy.”

If you want us to sample your cannabis products, send us an email at steve@ metrointhed.com.

Exotic Matter is a small-scale cultivator of high-quality flower. STEVE NEAVLING

CULTURE

Savage Love Had To Getaway

By Dan Savage

Dear Readers: I’m at a family event a happy one — this week. This column originally appeared on July 10, 2013. Back with a new Savage Love next week.

—Dan

: Q I’m a 26-year-old straight female. I’m writing because I need to ask someone what to think right now. I just fucked a guy while on holiday in Costa Rica. I thought I was sex-positive and adventurous, so why do I feel so ashamed? I’m dating a boy back in the U.S. who I absolutely adore, but we’re not necessarily exclusive. The guy was a 22-year-old local — I thought he was so sweet. But he did that bullshit “fuck her and then get her out of bed and drive her home” shit. I told him it wasn’t OK, and he made excuses. I feel so fucking pathetic right now. Is this because I did something stupid? Is this a natural feeling? Or is it a result of some deep psychological self-induced slut-shaming? Why would he kick me out like that? Please help me wrap my head around this.

—Truly Underestimated Risk In Sexy Travel Adventure

people before you, and you misjudged someone. Who hasn’t? I’m assuming the sex was good, it was just the aftermath that sucked. As for why he kicked you out, TURISTA, I couldn’t tell you. Maybe he’s in a relationship that’s “not necessarily exclusive,” and his girlfriend was coming over in the morning and wouldn’t appreciate finding a turista — yet another one — in her boyfriend’s bed.

: Q Never thought I’d be writing to you for advice, but here goes: I’m a straight guy with a long-term girlfriend who has a choking fetish. She needs to be choked during sex to get off. I’m more of a vanilla kind of dude, but in the spirit of being GGG, I’ve been doing this for her. The thing is, it kind of scares me. I don’t particularly get off on it, and it actually brings out parts of me that I don’t like. More importantly, I’m really scared of hurting her. Recently while on vacation, hotel security was called because our neighbors thought I was assaulting her, as she’s a screamer and likes to struggle during sex. I’m trying to be GGG, but now it feels like every fuck needs to be a rape scene, complete with choking. She doesn’t like it any other way. I don’t want to accidentally hurt her or kill her and wind up in jail, but she’s dismissive when I share my concerns. My friends in the BDSM scene scold me and say that breath play is never okay. Your thoughts?

—Throat Harm Really Obsesses This Terrific Lady Entirely

a man. We talk about life on Facebook and text each other frequently. Recently, things have gotten a bit more flirtatious. I am dying to say to her, “I am super-attracted to you and I don’t want to assume anything about your agreements with your hubby. If you ever want to explore your sexuality with a girl, I would love to be that girl.” It seems like a delicate situation. I love my best friend’s entire family. I love their mom. I have spent holidays at their house and vacationed with them. I don’t want to embarrass myself. But I know she couldn’t ask me that same thing. It just wouldn’t be right from her side, since I am her little sister’s best friend. Is there a way to roll this out?

—Lesbian Under Straight Tease

Let’s do a quick risk/reward analysis, LUST. By hitting on this woman, you risking screwing up your relationship with your best friend, your best friend’s sister, and your best friend’s mom — and you risk losing all future family holiday/vacation invites — for the potential reward of getting into the pants of your best friend’s hot married older sister once or twice. Seems like a lot to risk if you ask me, LUST, and you did ask me. That said, there are a lot of married bi women out there. But if Gladys has an open relationship with her husband — or if they’re actively seeking for a unicorn — it would be better if they made the first move. So, keep flirting and live in hope.

A: My hunch — and it’s just a hunch — is that before you could give yourself permission to fuck this guy, TURISTA, you had to convince yourself the encounter wasn’t just two strangers using each other for sex. Like a lot of people who wanna have one-night stands — men and women, gays and straights, locals and tourists — you “virtue-washed” a sleazy sexual encounter by convincing yourself that you shared a meaningful instaconnection with this boy. (“I thought he was so sweet.”) You convinced yourself that if circumstances were different — if you were single, if you lived in Costa Rica — you could see yourself dating this guy. You rounded this dude up to boyfriend material, TURISTA, but the way he treated you after the sex was over (“Back to the hotel”) stripped away your illusions: He was a player (probably), and you had been played (most likely), and you wanted to be played (with).

Was your reaction sex-negative? Yes, it was. Are you slut-shaming yourself? Yes, you are. You did something kind of sleazy on vacation, TURISTA, just like millions of other

A: Here’s what kink author, educator, and activist Jay Wiseman has to say about choking in his book SM 101: A Realistic Introduction: “I know of no way whatsoever that suffocation or strangulation can be done that does not intrinsically put the recipient at risk of cardiac arrest ... I know of no reliable way to determine when such a cardiac arrest becomes imminent. If the recipient does arrest, the probability of resuscitating them, even with optimal CPR, is small.” Even if choking weren’t dangerous — and it may be less dangerous than some make it sound; most news stories about people getting killed during “breath play” involve solo scenes, not being choked by a partner — being this woman’s boyfriend/assailant has become tedious. Setting choking and its dangers aside, THROTTLE, you’d need to ask yourself if you wanna spend the rest of your life with someone who’s as inconsiderate, selfish, and sexually limited as your girlfriend appears to be.

: Q I’m a 29-year-old lesbian. My best friend has an incredibly hot sister to whom I am very attracted. Let’s call her Gladys. Gladys is about 10 years older than me and happily married to

: Q A girl I worked with introduced me to your podcast a couple of months ago. You must get this email (or variations on it) all the time, but I wanted to say thank you for the Savage Lovecast. It has made me feel a lot more comfortable about some of the things I like to do, consensually, with my loving GGG boy. My girlfriends sometimes turn their noses up at some of the sexual stuff I’ve tried or mentioned being interested in trying. The calls and guest experts on your podcast make me feel so much more normal, and my boyfriend loves that I’ve recently become a lot more open about the things I want to do. I don’t have a question, Dan, I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate what you and the tech-savvy at-risk youth do every week.

—Eager Nice Girl Living In Scottish Highlands

A: Thanks for the lovely note, ENGLISH, and tell your boyfriend I said hello. And remember, dear readers, if you’re not listening to my weekly podcast — check out our brand-new site at savagelovecast.com — you’re not getting your full weekly dose of Savage Love.

Got problems? Yes, you do! Email your question for the column to mailbox@ savage.love! Or record your question for the Savage Lovecast at savage. love/askdan! Podcasts, columns, and more at Savage.Love.

CULTURE

Free Will Astrology

By Rob Brezsny

ARIES: March 21 – April 19

The Hawaiian word pō refers to a primal darkness from which all life ﬂows. It’s not a fearsome void, but a fertile mystery, rich with future possibilities and the ancestors’ hopes. In the coming weeks, I invite you to treat your inner life as pō. Be as calm and patient and watchful as an Aries can be as you monitor the inklings that rise up out of the deep shadows. Have faith that the cloudy uncertainty will ultimately evolve into clarity, revealing the precise directions you need.

TAURUS: April 20 – May 20

In the 17th century, the Taurus polymath Athanasius Kircher constructed a fantastical machine called the Aeolian harp. It wasn’t designed to be played by human ﬁngers, but by the wind. It conjured music with currents invisible to the eye. I nominate this sublime contraption as your power object for the coming weeks, Taurus. The most beautiful and healing melodies may come from positioning

yourself so that inspiration can blow through. How might you attune yourself to the arrival of unexpected help and gifts? Set aside any tendency you might have to try too hard. Instead, allow life to sing through you.

GEMINI: May 21 – June 20

The painter Vincent van Gogh wrote, “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” That’s good advice for you right now. Your ambitions may feel daunting if you imagine them as monumental and monolithic. But if you simply focus on what needs to be done next — the daily eﬀorts, the incremental improvements — you will be as relaxed as you need to be to accomplish wonders. Remember that masterpieces are rarely completed in a jiﬀ y. The cumulative power of steady work is potentially your superpower. Here’s another crucial tip: Use your imagination to have fun as you attend to the details.

CANCER: June 21 – July 22

VIRGO: August 23 – Sept. 22

In traditional Japanese carpentry, joints are made so skillfully that they need no nails, screws, or adhesives. Carpenters use intricate joinery techniques to connect pieces of wood so tightly that the structures are strong and durable. They often require a mallet for assembly and disassembly. In metaphorical terms, you are capable of that kind of craftsmanship these days, Virgo. I hope you will take advantage of this by building lasting beauty and truth that will serve you well into the future. Don’t rush the joinery. If it’s not working, don’t force it. Re-cut, re-measure, breathe deeply, and try again.

LIBRA: Sept. 23 – Oct. 22

by proclaim that you, Sagittarius, will be like both the artist and the camera obscura lens in the coming weeks. Your perceptions may feel inverted, strange, even disorienting, but that’s a gift! So let unfamiliarity be your muse. Flip your assumptions. Sketch from shadow instead of light. Have faith that the truth isn’t vanishing or hiding; it’s simply appearing in unfamiliar guises. Don’t rush to turn right-side-up things. Relish and learn from the tilt.

CAPRICORN: Dec. 22 – Jan. 19

I’m sure you enjoy gazing into some mirrors more than others. It’s amazing how different you might look in your bathroom mirror and the mirror in the restroom at work. Some store windows may reflect an elegant, attractive version of you, while others distort your image. A similar principle is at work in the people with whom you associate. Some seem to accentuate your finest attributes, while others bring out less flattering aspects. I bring this to your attention, dear Capricorn, because I believe it will be extra important in the coming weeks for you to surround yourself with your favorite mirrors.

AQUARIUS:

Jan. 20 – Feb. 18

Welcome to a special edition of “What’s My Strongest Yearning?” I’m your host, Rob Brezsny, and I’m delighted you have decided to identify the single desire that motivates you more than any other. Yes, you have many wishes and hopes and dreams, but one is more crucial than all the rest! Right? To begin the exercise, take three deep breaths and allow every knot of tension to dissolve and exit your beautiful body. Then drop down into the primal depths of your miraculous soul and wander around until you detect the shimmering presence of the beloved reason you came here to this planet. Immerse yourself in this glory for as long as you need to. Exult in its mysterious power to give meaning to everything you do. Ask it to nurture you, console you, and inspire you.

LEO: July 23 – August 22

WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF EVIDENT…

In certain medieval maps, unexplored territories were marked with the Latin phrase hic sunt dracones — “here be dragons.” It was a warning and a dare, a declaration that no one knew what lay beyond. In the coming weeks, Leo, you may find yourself traveling into one of those unlabeled regions. Rather than flinching or dodging, I invite you to press forward with respectful curiosity. Some of the socalled dragons will be figments. Others are protectors of treasure and might be receptive to sharing with a bright light like you. Either way, productive adventures are awaiting you in that unmapped territory. Go carefully — but go.

Here’s one of my unruly rules about human competence: In every professional field, from physicians to lawyers to psychics to teachers, about 15 percent of all the practitioners are downright mediocre, even deficient. Seventy-five percent are at least satisfactory and sometimes good. And 10 percent of the total are surpassingly excellent, providing an extraordinary service. With this in mind, I’m happy to say that you now have a knack for gravitating toward that exceptional 10 percent in every domain you are drawn to. I predict that your intuition will consistently guide you toward premium sources.

SCORPIO: Oct. 23 – Nov. 21:

The Japanese concept of shinrinyoku means “forest bathing.” It invites people to immerse themselves in the natural world, drawing on its restorative power. In accordance with astrological portents, I urge you Scorpios to maximize your forest bathing. To amplify the enrichment further, gravitate toward other environments that nourish your soul’s need for solace and uplift. The naked fact is that you need places and inﬂuences that oﬀer you comfort, safety, and tender inspiration. Don’t apologize for making your life a bit less heroic as you tend to your inner world with gentle reverence.

SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22 – Dec. 21

The camera obscura was a precursor to modern cameras. It projected the outside world upside down onto interior walls. Artists loved it because it helped them see reality from new angles. I here-

Leonardo da Vinci filled thousands of pages with sketches, notes, and experiments. He never finished many of them. He called this compilation his “codex of wonder.” It wasn’t a record of failures. It was an appreciation of his complex process and a way to honor his creative wellspring. Taking a cue from da Vinci’s love of marvelous enigmas, I invite you to be in love with the unfinished in the coming weeks Make inquisitiveness your default position. Reconsider abandoned ideas. Be a steward of fertile fragments. Some of your best work may arise from revisiting composted dreams or incomplete sketches. Here’s your motto: Magic brews in the margins.

PISCES:

Feb.19 – March 20

In the remote Atacama Desert of Chile, certain ﬂowers lie dormant for years, awaiting just the right conditions to burst into blossom in a sudden, riotous explosion of color and vitality. Scientists call it a superbloom. Metaphorically speaking, Pisces, you are on the verge of such a threshold. I’m sure you can already feel the inner ripening as it gathers momentum. Any day now, your full ﬂowering will erupt — softly but dramatically. You won’t need to push. You will simply open. To prepare yourself emotionally, start rehearsing lively shouts of “HALLELUJAH! HOORAY! WHOOPEE!”

Homework: What action or project could you undertake that would provide you with a rich new sense of meaning?

JAMES NOELLERT

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